Tense Strings
by Shadowfang3000
Summary: "You fascinate me, Malcolm." - The Spear of Vengeance confronts her latest host, eager for her pact to be fulfilled and for retribution to be enacted. However, who would've thought that for the first time in history that her oathsworn was reluctant to pursue revenge? (A poorly written fic with a Yandere-ish Kalista!)


**(A/N): **What better way to kick off a new year with the sequel to_ last year's _kick off?

At the start of last year I wrote up _Empty Shells_, a strange fic starring Graves and Jinx that gave my own insight into the workings of Graves' mind. For those who didn't read it or couldn't make sense of the jumbled message, I've pictured Graves as someone who's overcome the urge to seek revenge on the people who've slighted him.

Then Kalista was released!

I actually like Kalista as a character – or maybe I'm _secretly_ a foot fetishist. Either way, I saw potential for a fic between her and Graves and pushed it into the back of my head as I worked on essays… And then suddenly, just when I was about to start the original year-starter, it came back in a flood!

Let's see if I can get this old brain into gear, with the indirect sequel to one of my favourite fics of last year! Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you enjoy!

**WARNING: **Spelling errors, a kind of Yandere-ish Kalista, attempts at being edgy, no real ending, painfully awkward usage of innuendos to try and make someone seem unsettling, a muddled attempt at having a moral, out of place comedy, _ITALICS _and OOC-ness!

**Tense Strings**

They used to tell tales of her. Tales of the Spear of Vengeance, and her ever-present pact forever available to those in need. With just a few short words bandied, she would offer her countless weapons and talents for use at your discretion – so long as those sworn to her oath were in need of retribution; payback in its purest form.

Bilgewater was filled to its frothy brim with stories of frozen nights in the midst of scorching summers, as those many who backstabbed and betrayed as their daily bread-and-butter wandered home from taverns with gin in their hands and lulus in their steps. None truly knew of the black mist that enveloped the docklands on bitter nights such as that to claim victims; for those who entered it would never return, their souls claimed by the revenant of revenge.

But of course that was all just a legend to most - the sort of thing old coots with teeth of brass and pine shared with Demacian travellers and ever-intrigued Ionians for a pretty penny or a free pint of lager. So much for a "_Spear of Vengeance_" – despite all these tales of her apparent exploits, supposedly none had ever seen her through the thick fog of shadow.

_Well, save for him._

Because that very spectre had been standing in front of his desk for the last half hour, staring him down as if ready to draw as the clock struck noon.

Graves kept to his seated pose, his short yet muscular legs remaining forever crossed upon the smooth oak of his ornate desk. A black and leather coat draped across the desk chair's spine, his fingers rummaged through its inside pocket for a smoke – like an impish street urchin on the eve of the Harrowing, forking through a bucket for sweets and treats.

The Spirit of Vengeance had already given him her name – _Kalista_ – some time ago. He hadn't initially expected a revenant from the Shadow Isles to carry a title and the burdens it held, but then again he'd seen all sorts of peculiar things on his travels across Valoran. A vengeful spirit with an array of sharp things sticking through her spine and a perpetual moody aura about her was just another Tuesday to his standards.

Biting the end of a stubby cigar, Graves subtly spat it into his stained ashtray without the foul spittle of a newbie or slob. He took a drag, and puffed calmly.**"This's the ****sixth**** time you've come seen me this month." **he pointed out, scrunching his nose to accentuate his furry upper-lip. Either Kalista cared little, heard little, or _both_. The Outlaw shifted the cigar back to his lips, smirking wryly. **"People gonna start to ****talk****."**

Kalista sneered in defiance, unimpeded by the accusations of the man before her.** "My presence is not known." **she assured monotonously. Only those who fit the criteria had the luxury of meeting her – be they her commander, or her _victim_. She thought the criminal before her knew this already.** "You, of **_**all **_**people, should know this ****Oathsworn****."**

He would've pointed out how humour seemed to fly over her head, but she'd probably take that phrase literally.**"I ain't your **_**Oathsworn**_**." **he growled, the cigar wibbling and wobbling between his teeth like the arms of a chilly ball-boy. **"We had this chat ****yesterday****. **_**And**_** last week." **he held his roll-up to the side, letting it emit its fog all the way up to the ceiling like a miniature smokestack. **"… And the week before **_**that**_** I reckon."**

To bear the title of the Black Spear was to be righteous and resolute in one's cause – Kalista aimed to embody everything that her forebears had dreamed to preach.** "I shall have my words heard." **she took a testing step forward, her bare feet soundless and ethereal upon the office floor. He hadn't gotten around to asking her about her lack of shoes – he assumed she found it comfortable to do what she did without heels. **"You **_**will**_** submit, Oathsworn. In time."**

Ignoring those dark promises had been something of a routine over the past month – ever since the strange ghoul had begun haunting him, urging him to commit to a cause he had little to no interest in following. With diplomacy in mind he leant forward with a squeak, rummaging through one of his many draws that had suffered greatly under the raids of mischievous hands. Eventually he produced a purple box, made of poorly laminated and creased up cardboard. **"White or black?" **he asked, shaking the box of chocolates. Kalista blinked with utter disbelief, wondering if the large bloke before her understood that he was dealing with the very personification of _death_. Graves scowled with judgement, setting his diminished cigar to the side for a moment to pop a small chocolate. **"… Don't you ****eat****?"**

She likely felt that question didn't deserve an answer, maintaining her silent vigil like a lone sentinel – albeit for _all_ the wrong reasons. As the outlaw before her lazily gnawed on a lump of candy, she turned from her post and paced to his adorned mantelpiece with the soft and delayed patter of bare flesh on wood. **"You ****still**** hold it close to your heart." **she reaffirmed, quickly returning to the topic that she wished to push. Her jagged and firm talons reached across the shelf, taking up one of many photo frames that lined the mantle in ranks of five. The Spear of Vengeance could feel a faint stickiness – of _food_ and _spittle_ – staining the glass case as she ran her fingers against its front. Someone young and misunderstood had handled it as of late; and whoever they were, they certainly had a fondness for sugary treats. **"Try as you might, you cannot let what happened ****go****."**

_Say what you want._

_But that just makes one of you._

**"Done it so far." **Graves gulped dryly, flexing his shoulders and fidgeting on his seat. The chocolate tasted fine, filled to the brim with a thick caramel. Yet nothing could cleanse the bitter taste in his mouth; an after effect of the spectre that continued to harass him. He ignored the photograph she bore in hand, hoping - like a dull minded juvenile - that somehow if _he_ couldn't see it _she_ wouldn't be able to either. **"Doin' ****fine**** 'til you started showin'."**

Kalista stared at the image in hand, her expression warped with disgust and rage – the sort of anger you had to suppress to stop yourself from going on a murderous _rampage_. It was as if she was addressing the man in the image with the same disdain that Graves had once had for him – glaring at his lanky, goofily-clad form. The revenant hissed with spite, **"Twisted Fate, the Card Master, is a **_**liar**_** and a **_**traitor**_**."**

**"We're **_**all**_** liars."** Graves pointed out truthfully, playing down his interest with ease. He'd made his own share of betrayals in his time; it came with the line of work. If you didn't get involve in the sowing of a few lies from time to time, you were probably doing it wrong. **"Hustlin' hustlers is what we do."**

**"He condemned you to years of hell." **Kalista reminded, speaking as if she'd experienced the very things he had herself – as if she'd been there from day one, and felt his pain. It almost seemed as if she was tapping into his thoughts and beliefs, taking the offense Fate had caused him to her own heart. Her clawed digit dragged across the smooth casing, leaving a gentle trail of damage in its wake. **"All that time you spent in reflection, and **_**spite.**_**"**

A chorus of creaks and squeals rattled as Graves rose to his two feet, pressing his cigar butt into the ashen base of his worn tray.** "You ****can't**** speak for me."** he growled lowly, having become increasingly fed up with the ghost's mannerisms over the past few weeks. Since the moment she'd arrived she'd spoken as if he belonged to her – as if he was hers to command and hers _alone_. Surprisingly Kalista's lanky and spindly form was almost identical to his in terms of height – something that made the air just a tad more awkward. He pointed at the photo frame she was currently butchering with her nails. **"… That cost a dime, you know."**

Of course she didn't accept the _existence _of his comment – 'though her razor like claws began to clack and tap at the glass case to a calculating, constant rhythm. **"**_**That**_** is my purpose." **she said, speaking with the same tone she'd had since she'd arrived. Try as he might to deny it, she _knew _what it was that he desired in the end. What _all _men wished to achieve in the light of betrayal. **"I've enacted the will of hapless hearts **_**aplenty**_**."**

**"Good for you." **Graves snarled with unhidden contempt, folding his arms to broaden his form in defiance. Kalista's brow remained low, yet her stare stayed fixed on the only other resident of the otherwise empty office. Her stoic expression only betrayed her intrigue at what _pitiful_ attempt of self-justification the outlaw was going to make next**. "Lemme check the time. **_**Well, **_**what do you know."** Graves said rather than asked, staring down at his bare wrist – and the imaginary watch he'd just purchased two seconds ago. He replied to her gaze with his own glare, filled with the fury of one who was not amused.** "Now off you go. Those '_hapless hearts_' need you."**

**"It is ****foolish ****to avoid it." **Kalista announced, confidently striding towards him as if she owned the world and its moons. A large, crooked, _wicked_ smile filled her blue and pale lips – the bloody grin befitting of an undead murderess bent on destruction. Graves had seen all sorts of killers in his time, yet the revenant's expression alone was enough to unnerve him. **"You speak strongly, yet your need **_**aches**_**."** she sighed whimsically. Now a mere foot from the bulky male, Kalista took in the crisp and tar-filled air about him with a single deep breath, closing her restless eyes. The shuddering exhalation that followed moments later could best be described as _orgasmic; _as _euphoric._**"… You **_**long **_**for revenge. You **_**beg **_**for it."**

_And you'll get it, in time._

_Just give yourself to those impulses._

_Do not fear what is natural._

Graves kept his visage as blank as always, ignoring the unsettling enthusiasm that the revenant before him had for her craft. As she continued to rejoice in the gift of her senses, he made for his coat pocket to restock on what he needed – he was short on smokes _again_, he never seemed to have enough. **"This ain't the most ****productive**** chat I've had in a while." **he noted, making sure to take a few steps back from the ghoul – who had less sense of personal space than a hooker on the job. Either she was too preoccupied with pleasure, didn't give a damn about his excuses, or – the frighteningly most likely option – _both._ Graves gestured between them, **"**_**I'm**_** stubborn, **_**you're**_** stubborn. Call it a day."**

Perhaps she was registering him after all, for as soon as the last of his words slipped from the knitting of his tongue she departed from her reverie and returned to work – to letting the soul before her embrace _justice. _Her fingers squeezed the frame in her hands as the outlaw took to his seat once more – a sign of weakness; _delicious _doubt. **"Who was he to **_**you**_**?"** she pressed, eager to tear her Oathsworn apart and get to the innards of his shaking need. Kalista pressed the assault, **"A **_**friend**_**? A **_**lover**_**?"**

Needless to say his eyebrow rose a considerable distance at the latter accusation. To be fair, he'd been accused of being a thematic stripper more than once due to his colourful getup whilst out and about. What was it with people thinking he was gay? Was it the beard?

_It must've been the beard._

Eagerly he reached for his welcome sanctuary, procuring the same box of chocolates he'd drawn from its holster moments prior. He'd been quite hooked on sweet snacks as of late – he blamed his time with the Loose Cannon, and her abundant access to chocolates aplenty. He held up a white cuboid, shaking it like a rattle. **"We ain't so ****black** **and ****white****."** he grumbled, glaring at the stationary pest. He'd never seen any of his relationships as friendships or rivalries; he'd met enough people in his time to know that there was a lot more depth than can be expressed in words. Graves pointed at the chocolate between his fingertips. **"Now **_**black**_**, or **_**white**_**?"**

For once, Kalista looked _genuinely_ taken aback by his question – he would've taken a moment to bask in the glory, but she was quick to return to her flat words. "**I do not eat."** she spat bluntly, the photo frame trembling between her tensed knuckles – any harder and the glass would shatter, coating her brittle hands with blood and gore. For some reason, he was certain that she would take no heed to such an injury - she'd probably enjoy it. **"Confectionery is pointless."**

_He never thought he'd hear a satanic ghost from the pits of the Shadow Isles say that._

"**Same with revenge, you know." **Graves tried to continue, thinking that his accidental use of metaphorical language was actually quite clever – albeit _entirely_ without intention. He doubted that the spectre could be dethroned from her seat of vengeance and superiority, but there was no harm in _trying. _**"… Ever do somethin' because you just **_**wanna **_**do it?"**

That look of confusion returned – Kalista legitimately couldn't understand the reasoning of the man before her. Her grip eased, yet beyond that she remained entirely true. **"That is**_** inane**_**."**

Kalista took that moment to turn back the mantelpiece; keen to flick and trawl through the many memories he had stored away on his walls. There was so much to _learn_ about the troubled man - there'd be signs of deviation from the norm; to explain why he could be so stubborn and appealing. Graves shook his head irritably, shoving the chocolates back into their draw roughly – she was acting like a disinterested little girl; albeit in a more warped, and twisted way. _She_ was the one missing out – he wasn't going to offer again. **"Suit yourself."**

Revenant or not, she was _eager _for conversation – as if it was a rare treat she cherished at every chance. **"You **_**didn't**_** answer my question."** she hissed aggressively, wrestling for the reins and commanding the route of conversation. She wouldn't be satisfied until she got an answer, or so he reckoned at least. **"Who was Twisted Fate to you, **_**Malcolm Graves**_**?"**

_He'd never told her his name._

Mechanically he drew his next cigar, grabbing for a matchstick in perfect unison. There was nothing in his pockets – he was out of _matches _now_, typical. _Awkwardly he tugged the large roll up out of his dry lips and slipped it back into his pocket, blowing air from his lips out of habit as if he'd taken a nice and juicy toke. **"… I'll tell you what you want to know." **he agreed at last. While her gaze remained fixed and unchanged, he could practically _feel _that unsettling excitement of hers filling the increasingly dank air. **"Twisted Fate was the sliest, **_**ballsiest**_** card-shark I ever worked with." **the outlaw said, **"He and I learned **_**aplenty**_** together, and then…" **he paused – the part where he _should've _taken another pull of tobacco. **"We went our own ways."**

_It wasn't the first story of its kind._

_Nor the last, of course._

**"He betrayed your trust." **Kalista grumbled. The vice of her claws returned, crushing the skull of the photograph's image with pleasurable fury. She longed to enact punishment _now_ – why wouldn't her Oathsworn just _submit _to her? **"He ****hurt ****_us_."**

**"**_**Trust**_**?" **Graves snickered wryly, like a father teaching their children of the complex wide world that surrounded them. Life on the docklands of Bilgewater was harsh, but it quickly bred a bizarre sense of street-wisdom that was lacking across the most of Valoran. Common sense wasn't _quite_ as common as you'd think. **"There ain't **_**no**_** trust in Bilgewater. There ain't **_**no**_** friends." **the criminal declared, his upper lip twitching with ire. **"I ain't too bitter 'bout it now."**

_Maybe he was naïve._

_Maybe he wanted their partnership to be the exception._

Twisted Fate's visage was slammed onto the smooth wood of the ceremonial desk table, a pair of misty, cerulean talons clawing and tapping at the glass that covered it enticingly. The glass was entirely spotless, save for the sheer _savagery _that had befallen the material that covered the Card Master's face – no doubt what Kalista was _desperate _to do to him just about now. **"Now." **the revenant repeated dismissively,** "**_**Now.**_**"** she chuckled once more, finding the outlaw's choice of words _lacking. _**"Inaction has **_**deluded**_** you, Malcolm Graves."** she swiftly declared; her index and middle fingers pressing firmly against the wounds of the frame. The cracks began to spread with brittle clicks, white streaks racing for the edges of the glass – _primed_ to burst. **"But a simple ****mirage**** can be mended by a mere **_**sip**_** of water."**

Humour was always a companion in an unfriendly situation. Graves had dragged himself through battles and defied what could've and should've killed him _countless_ times over with bitter comments and snarky words – he could only hope that snide and sarcasm could serve him once more. Kalista gazed into his eyes expectantly, as if awaiting the response on her knee to a marriage proposal. **"… You like metaphors, don'tcha?"**

_There was no chuckle._

_Dire straits._

"**I extend my hand once again." **Kalista announced with the vigour and pride of an honoured veteran, following her words to the letter. Graves remained still in his chair, eying the bony palm that hung in the air between them – what looked flimsy and frail bearing the strength to pierce ivory. **"A pact, Oathsworn, to cure **_**all**_** of your ills."** she continued. Almost impatiently she shook her hand as if droplets clung to it, trying her damndest to make him take it. Her eyes squinted, **"**_**Together**_**."**

He gave it a moment of thought.

Not too long, but long enough to make her _wait_.

Graves had made his decision from the start, and he had no intention to deviate from it. He'd spent three _long_ years trying to distance himself from the old bastard that Twisted Fate had _always_ been. Revenge was just a fruitless pursuit – and he was confident enough to say that he was beyond the base allure of retribution now: and like _hell _he would go back to it. Graves merely folded his arms, letting his eyes travel down her arm to her awaiting eyes. Kalista knew the answer before he even spoke – the was the _fun _of it. **"… No."**

_Oh, Malcolm._

_You always were the stubborn mule, weren't you?_

_Such an endearing, stalwart fellow._

The revenant scowled with parental disappointment - a _genuine_ desire to do what she thought was best for the man before her. She held this stare as Graves hauled himself off his arse and wandered to his office door, her expression gaining an extra layer of grim discontent. **"You aren't the first, you know."** she growled gutturally, her words almost sounding like a threat as the Outlaw pulled the door open. Malcolm needed to know that he wasn't the one in control here. **"So many speak of **_**standards**_**. Preached of morals and karma."** Kalista sneered from the thought, the very image of those many weak minds sickening her to the core. **"But they **_**all **_**betrayed those words, in time."**

"**They all had morals to **_**lose**_**, ghoulie."** he replied bluntly, leaning against the fresh new door frame that gave his office a hint of class. He wasn't chasing Fate out of logic and disinterest - it wasn't out of the goodness of his large, charitable heart. Once partners in crime, they were both as amoral as eachother from the _start_.** "And I ain't so ****inclined****."**

Kalista raised her chin in one last sign of defiance, her nostrils flaring in indignation. Graves mimicked the action - he wouldn't let her think for one _second_ that he was weak enough to fall. All she could do was speak her mind. **"You **_**aren't**_** correct, Oathsworn."**

He shrugged his shoulders at that. **"No one ever is."**

That last gesture of rebellion was enough to impress the spectre, that chilling grin bending across her sharp, bestial teeth once more. It certainly felt a bit peculiar as Kalista bowed her head in defeat, leaving the broad-shouldered criminal in his awkward position by the door. **"I will admit."** she exhaled, letting her feral maw subside in favour of a more genial smile. Pacing forward she shot him a glance - her empty eyes were filled wide with uncanny joy, not the defeated malice it should've born. **"... You **_**fascinate **_**me."**

"**Do I now?"** Graves replied reluctantly. The frail and sickly-thin woman was unsettling to say the least, an air of gentility filling her otherwise hate-filled or blank voice. This wasn't just "_fascination_" as she claimed – it was sheer obsession, nothing more and nothing less. **"Take it that's why you keep vistin' me?"**

**"All those fools who see me as a legend. They're not **_**special**_**, as you are."** Kalista chimed in a fashion that just barely scraped "girly". She shuffled closer, leaning towards Graves as if staring into an animal's pen. The grey mist about her began to spiral and converge by her shins once more, growing in size and translucence as it formed the baby steps of a gateway by her side. Her eyes darted across his face in admiration, as if chasing a stray insect. **"They **_**would**_** know the truth, as you do. If only they were a little more **_**interesting**_**."**

Graves reared back his head, trying to forge just an inch of distance from the discomforting entity before him. She had seen all of humanity for what it was at its worst - simple, crude, and driven by the most _base_ of impulses. It was a pity that she saw everyone as that basic caricature - while it was true for the most part, every peoples and every land has its misfits. For just the briefest of moments, Graves could taste a minute sense of _appreciation_ for the Spear of Vengeance - she didn't do what she did out of disdain, it was merely her misguided view of justice.

_To each their own._

_Apparently._

In contrast, Kalista could only feel her intrigue growing. The bulky outlaw before her was the first person who'd ever resisted her demands for such an extensive period of time. Forged by the dangers of crime, Graves was wrought as iron in his views and beliefs - and it'd take more than a swift tongue to pick into his impervious hide. The revenant was adamant that he would be hers; the day he succumbed to his needs.

_And then, she would be there for him._

_Forever waiting to sate his thirst._

Kalista pivoted on her naked and crinkled heels reluctantly, making sure to maintain her eye contact with the object of her newfound desires - pale blue portals glinting with carnal, bestial, starving obsession. **"We **_**will**_** meet again."** she told him eagerly, pacing towards the path before her and leave her words to trail in her wake. The spectre couldn't wait to return to him; just another few minutes to sample his _delicious_ reluctance again. One more whip of air signaled the fading of the smog, as at last she was gone with her final phrase. **"My **_**Oathsworn**_**."**

It took a moment for Graves to consider what he'd just experienced, pushing himself away from his slouched position against the wall.** "Yeah." **he replied to the air, part of him wondering if the haunting continued to eavesdrop on his every word. With heavy hands he nudged the open door closed, which he had opened as a statement prior. **"I guess we ****will****."**

As the last of the shadow whisked away upon steady winds, Graves made for his desk and plucked the old photograph from its open coffin. Roughly he patted at its front, dusting away the damaged glass and letting it - rather _dangerously_ - tumble to the carpet in a mess. Carefully he placed it back where it belonged; amongst the rows of memories that adorned the fireplace, forever close by and forever respected.

His destination was clear, but he did worry about the temptation of Kalista's alluring and ever-present pact. One day he might falter to the power of suggestion, and submit to her wishes for bloodied revenge. All the while she would continue her relentless assault, forever harassing him - and _only_ him - to feel the rush and excitement of murdering Fate before his eyes.

_But that wasn't today._

Graves returned to his ancient desk chair, leaning back with a familiar squeak and setting his legs up as he always did. Twisted Fate was a _magnificent_ bastard if he'd ever known any - the day he died would be when the sun itself slammed into Valoran, and knowing him he'd probably be the _last _to go even then. The outlaw's mind was free to wander for now, until that red-letter day looming over the horizon.

_And on that day, he would be ready._

_The day that the Spear of Vengeance held him by the heartstrings._

_He needed a smoke._

X

_(A/N): You know I'm going to be depreciating here, so I'm just going to skip the formalities :P_

_Yaddayadda disappointed, yaddayadda jumped the gun, yaddayadda decent concept yadayadabadaboom :(_

_I do hope you enjoyed! I'll make sure to return to working on the original__ starter fic for the year – The Breadwinner – soon. For those who want a fix of kid-friendly cutesy Pantheon X Morgana antics in a bakery, it'll be perfect for you. Taataa!_

_... Oh, and by the way: Took me forever to pick a decent name for this fic. Tense Strings was what I settled on... You know, because Graves is tense and unmoving on his views but Kalista is plucking at his strings? :O_

_DON'T SAY I'M NOT EDGY DERN IT_


End file.
